Ménage Material [La Belle sans la Bete Ménages] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

by Akeroyd, Serena

  He’d alienated one, and the other was on another continent. It seemed coffee was the only way to go.

  Naked and feeling glum, he padded out of the bathroom and into the hallway. His penthouse was large. The bedroom at one side of the building, the lab in the middle, and at the opposite end, his living quarters. When he passed the lab, he heard the gentle tinkling of the piano keys, and at the sound, his heart literally fluttered in his chest.

  To no other creature would he admit to a flutter, but the knowledge she hadn’t left made him feel as though a ten-ton weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

  He hadn’t frightened her away. He’d probably freaked her out, but not enough to make her run.

  Dieu merci!

  Closing his eyes in thanks, he strode on ahead, uncaring of his nudity or morning breath. He just needed to see her. That would be enough.

  He headed into the salon and saw her, shoulders and back bowed over the piano as she tinkled with the keys with a solitary digit from each hand.

  Alex managed to enter the room and stand an inch away from her without her even realizing it. She jumped, her two fingers slamming down, when he cupped her shoulder.

  “Bonjour, Devvy,” he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head.

  “Morning, Alex,” she replied, literally radiating tension through every stiff limb.

  Feeling guilty for spoiling her moment of peace, he sighed and sat beside her on the duet piano stool—Bastien played rarely, but did if Alex asked it of him. As he took a seat, she chuckled at the sight of his nudity, when she finally peeked his way.

  “Didn’t you think to put on a pair of pants?”

  He shrugged. “No one to see anything. Apart from you and you’ve already seen it. Why? Does my cock offend you?”

  She snorted. “We became quite good friends last night.”

  “It is hoping we shall become more than just good friends.”

  “I’m sure that’s in the cards.”

  Her surety eased some of his own strain. When he didn’t reply, she returned to her single digit playing of Chopsticks.

  “You are a master of the piano, I see,” he teased, and felt more of his tension disappear as she grinned up at him.

  “I’m not a bad player actually. My mother forced lessons on me. She couldn’t seem to understand that I wanted to be a scientist. That I wanted to take a role in what she considers to be a man’s world. I think she’s read too many Georgette Heyer novels…” She paused, frowned. “Or maybe not enough. Mom’s certain the way to every man’s heart is to play the piano, ride, sing, paint…everything a Regency heroine can do.” Her words culminated with a rather impressive arpeggio that had him clapping.

  “That’s an odd take on life.”

  She shrugged. “That’s my mom for you. She’s very traditional, and because my father humors her, and because they’re quite wealthy, she gets away with it.”

  “You would have to keep the relationship between us a secret, then.” He made the statement knowing it would be true, but wishing it weren’t. “If she’s very traditional, I mean.”

  She paused, hesitated over a chord, then peeked up at him again. “It depends.”

  “It does?”

  “On how deep we go.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If…” She bit her lip and switched her gaze to the piano keys.

  “It’s okay, you can talk to me.”

  “If this works out, really works out, then I’d tell my mom and dad. I don’t think he’d really mind. So long as Bastien was cool with it. Dad’s quite important at his bank. He appreciates wealth. If Sebastien didn’t want a divorce, if he was happy with it, Dad wouldn’t give a damn. Especially as we’re in France and nobody would know in his circle.

  “Mom would freak. Probably call me all kinds of names. But if I come to love you, I won’t deny you.”

  “You say that now…”

  There was a bitterness to his tone, one that he hadn’t intended to be there. But her shake of the head was sharp. As was her answer. “No.” She slashed her hand in front of them. “If I love you, if you love me, I won’t hide you. I’m not like that.”

  Touched, also feeling guilty at her lack of guile in the face of all his lies and secrets, he placed a hand on her knee and squeezed. She smiled at him and he sighed. “I’m sorry about last night.”

  Her gentle humor disappeared and concern replaced it. “You don’t have to apologize. I should be the one to say sorry. I must have done something…I don’t know what…to make you feel like that…” At her hesitation, he squeezed her knee again.

  “You did nothing wrong. You were perfect, Devvy. As perfect as I’d always imagined.”

  She flushed. “It was wonderful, wasn’t it?” she confessed, eagerly peeking up at him for confirmation.

  “Oui. It was. And I spoiled it.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say spoiled.”

  He grunted. “What would you call it?”

  “I don’t know.” She jerked her shoulder. “I’d have said it was some kind of breakdown but, I’m not sure why it happened.”

  “You and me both.”

  His muttered words had her frowning. “You don’t want to talk about it, do you?” she asked, astute in her reading of him.

  “No. Not really.”

  “Will you tell me what happened?” When he didn’t reply, she added, “One day?”

  He didn’t want to lie to her so he pondered the thought and wondered if he could share something with her, when he’d never told another living soul save for his therapist. And the therapist only knew, because once upon a time, Alex had tried to commit suicide. After having his stomach pumped, the hospital insisted upon therapy. He’d been with the same psychiatrist for over two decades.

  Alex could have pandered to her, all the while knowing he never would reveal the truth, but Devvy didn’t deserve that.

  He fully intended on making her fall in love with him, and if that was the case, she’d share the truth of their relationship with her parents. Regardless of their negative reaction to such a revelation. In the face of that, how could he lie? How could he withhold the truth from her?

  Alex knew that at some point in his life, he would have to share his past with his lovers. A part of him knew he could never tell Bastien. Maybe Devvy could do the telling for him?

  Playing the messenger wouldn’t be pleasant, but Bastien wouldn’t shoot her. He might want to shoot the man who had abused Alex, but considering the man was six feet under, little damage could be done to the stained bones of a pedophile long since dead.

  Having Bastien know the truth might add a level of peace to their relationship. They’d never settled together or lived in the same place. After twenty years, that was beyond bizarre. And he knew it was his fault.

  He needed his space. Needed room to be himself. Here, in his penthouse, he was central. In the middle of it all. Close to the hubbub of the metropolis but able to lock himself away from the outside world. His assistant and her assistants intruded his bubble, attending to his needs, ensuring he never had to leave his home unless it was urgent or as Devvy would call it, for a booty call. He liked his life that way. The sense of freedom soothed the ragged, soul-deep ache. He might once have been weak, exposed…but now, he was untouchable.

  Devvy was the harbinger of change.

  His neat world had always been a hair’s breadth away from implosion. With Devvy and her ways, he knew the implosion had already begun. It just hadn’t reached its full momentum yet.

  And in truth, he embraced the change. He wanted it. For Bastien.

  Seb deserved at least one normal partner.

  Alex knew that could never be him.

  He’d long since grieved the sad truth, and part and parcel of that grief had been to find a solution. That solution being a third. It just so happened he’d found her. And she was perfect for the role and for him. He’d always imagined their woman would soothe the ache in Bastien�
�s soul that Alex couldn’t reach. He’d never thought she would work her magic on him as well.

  The Alex who replied was well aware of what he was doing, of what a promise he was making, when he said, “Yes. I’ll tell you what happened. Some day.”

  * * * *

  “Does he ever call you when he’s away?”

  Alex eyed her, caution definitely buried in his gaze. “Why?”

  Waving the spoon loaded with macadamia nut brittle and vanilla ice cream, aka orgasm in a bowl, she wafted his concern away. “I just want to know.”

  “You’re not going to turn into a jealous harpy, are you?” he asked, swooping down, stealing the spoon and the ice cream.

  “You’re lucky I came twice last night. Otherwise, I’d have to kill you for that.” In fact, after four days in Alex’s bed, she was thoroughly sated. Not a tense muscle in her body. That didn’t mean she couldn’t threaten the man for stealing her favorite ice cream.

  The deadly seriousness of her tone had him chuckling. “Ah, so you’ll kill me for stealing ice cream but not for swiping your husband?”

  “I think you’ll find I swiped him from you,” she teased, turning around to pinch the spoon from him and then moving to rest her arms on the back of the sofa so she could watch him wield a whiteboard pen with the precision of a scalpel.

  The first time she’d entered this room, she hadn’t noticed the whiteboard. Considering the room was white and the whiteboard took up the entire back wall, she guessed it was easy to miss. Only when the light shone on it a certain way did you even notice it.

  “So, we’re getting down to the nitty-gritty,” he mocked, using a phrase she’d taught him a few days ago.

  “Yes, it’s all in the details,” she told him primly, savoring another spoonful of ice cream.

  “To answer your original question, before we were bombarded with minutiae…”

  She butted in, “How is it you know what minutiae are but not nitty-gritty?”

  He shrugged. “Selective learning. I read medical journals, ma petite.” He scribbled something on the whiteboard and she watched him ponder the calculation before muttering, “Sometimes, he calls me. But only if he needs a sounding board.”

  “I refuse to believe sounding board is in a medical journal.”

  Alex just smiled. “You shall have to see to my English education, Devvy.”

  “Does it involve me being a teacher and you a naughty pupil?”

  “Depends if there’s spanking involved.”

  The deadpan statement had Devvy’s heart flatlining. She sputtered around her ice cream. “Are you being serious?”

  He cocked a brow. “I’ll try anything once.”

  “Oh fuck, you didn’t just say that,” she said in a breath, excited beyond belief at his blasé comment.

  “Research is my life. No matter the subject.”

  She shook her head. “You’re insane. Do you know that?”

  “Well, not certifiable.”

  “So reassuring.”

  “Does he call you when he’s away?”

  “No. Never.”

  Alex frowned at her as he bent down, retrieved the spoon and scooped up more ice cream. “Are you mad that he calls me?”

  “No. I probably should be. But then, I should be a lot of things and I’m not.”

  “You mean this entire situation should disturb you?”

  “Yup. I should be totally freaked out.”

  “But it doesn’t?”

  She snorted. “I’d really be here if it did, wouldn’t I?”

  “True. I’ve never purported to understand the inner workings of the female brain.”

  “Oh, ho, purport? The average American would think you’re talking about some kind of marine life.” At his scowl, she clarified, “Porpoise.”

  “I’m sure you’re underestimating the English-speaking world.”

  “I promise I’m not. I foresee plenty of cult films in your future, Alex.”

  “Not more merde like we watched the other day.”

  “Yep,” she told him cheerfully. “But look how it turned out. You got your end away, didn’t you?”

  “True.” He pondered the thought. “Okay. I shall watch the movies you deem fit. But I need to work on this for the moment.”

  “And I’m distracting you?”

  He grinned. “If I admit to that, I’d never get my ‘end,’ as you so charmingly phrased it, away. Ever again.”

  She winked. “What did I tell you? I’m not your average woman. I’ll just shut up and have my foodgasm in peace.”

  Alex grunted but returned to the formula he was working on, yet another piece of the puzzle that was cancer. She let him work, left him to his thoughts as she lay sprawled back on the sofa, spoon and ice cream tub in hand, eyes staring at the ceiling.

  She’d spent these last weeks pondering if there was something wrong or something very right with her. She’d yet to decide which was the case.

  She had no doubt there was something skewed in her sexuality. Devvy just had the feeling it was only skewed where Alex was concerned. Had Bastien introduced anyone else to the mix, she’d have told him where to go and at what speed to travel. It was Alex, her Achilles’ heel, that had enabled her to adapt to the idea of a threesome. As it was, she was looking forward to seeing the two of them together.

  Devvy had never watched porn, so she’d certainly never seen man-on-man action. Aside from the kisses and heavy petting she’d witnessed with her lovers, she had no other images or memories to fall back on. Her imagination was strong, and now, having finally seen Alex’s cock, she could piece together a picture of her own.

  It was hotter than hell.

  Enough to make her stomach twist and clench.

  The new, daring Devvy wanted to do something completely insane. In her mind’s eye, she saw her hand slip down between her legs, saw her fingers start to play with her clit.

  She wondered if she had the balls to jack off whilst Alex was staring at the whiteboard. The idea in and of itself was crazy. It told her how far she had come in the few weeks she’d known Alex.

  The thought made her question how deep the corruption would go, and while corruption had negative connotations, she looked forward to it, to being deep under Alex’s influence, because if he were anything like Sebastien, she’d enjoy every single minute of it.

  “I can hear your brain ticking away.” Alex’s voice disturbed her thoughts and she chuckled.

  “Is it too loud for you? I didn’t realize thoughts made a sound.”

  “They don’t. But it depends.”

  “Depends on what?”

  “On what you’re thinking about, of course.”

  “What do you mean?”

  His pen squeaked across the board. Slashing blue symbols and periodic elements that at a glance, she understood, but the entire amalgamation of chemical formulae just blew her head off. With a bit of research and a bit of study, they wouldn’t be beyond her comprehension, but this was most definitely advanced cancer research, something outside of her specialty.

  Just knowing that the man was on the brink of something revolutionary had that melting thing going on down below. If her pussy had felt red-hot moments before, now, it felt as though the conflagration had already started.

  The man’s brilliance was hotter than any six-pack abdomen or solid-concrete pecs.

  Saying that, Alex had both.

  Fuck, she was a lucky woman.

  His squeaking came to a halt, and the sudden cessation of sound dragged her from her thoughts of Alex’s double-whammy hit to the female population—gorgeous and smarter than Einstein, was there anything sexier?—as he recapped the pen and turned around to face her. “You’re wriggling around on the sofa.”

  “And? Am I not allowed to fidget?”

  “Fidget,” he murmured the word, puzzled it out for a second and then nodded. “Of course, but you are not fidgeting. You’re wriggling.”

  “What’s the difference?”

/>   He grinned. “Fidgeting implies discomfort, a subconscious act to burn off unnecessary or excess energy. But you, you’re not uncomfortable, you’re thinking about sex.” That grin of his had widened and had her smiling back at him.

  She shook her head and said, “How big a fool would you feel if that weren’t the truth?”

  He shrugged and the gesture was so French she almost swooned. Americans shrugged both shoulders. Quick and meaningless. The French, on the other hand, slowly jerked a shoulder. Giving so much meaning, so much poignancy to a simple gesture that it was almost alien in comparison to the American version. Poems should be written about that Gallic shrug, she thought whimsically.

  “I would not feel foolish, because if you said you weren’t thinking about sex, I wouldn’t believe you.”

  “Charming!” she snapped, sitting up and glaring at him with outrage.

  “What? Do not take offence, ma chérie. There is nothing to be offended about. I, too, am thinking about sex.”

  “Men always think about sex,” she butted in.

  “Maybe some or most men do. But not me, nor Sebastien. We are too busy in our minds”—he tapped his forehead with his finger—“to waste time constantly thinking about sex.”

  “So, you’re telling me that even though you’re working on pretty important research and ordinarily your mind would be focused on that research, you’re thinking about sex as well.”

  “Mais oui. How could I not be thinking about that? What are you wearing, ma petite?”

  She looked down at her shorts and T-shirt. Hardly the clothes required to win a beauty contest, but from the way he was looking at her, it was like she was wearing lingerie. Frilly, lacy fripperies that showed more than they hid.

  Devvy laughed. “You can’t find this sexy?”

  “Why not? I can see all your legs. If I look, just so…” He tilted his head. “…I can see your panties.”

  She squealed, crossed her legs and pressed her hands down against the apex of her thighs. “Alex, what are you doing looking there?!” she chided, although her reprimand was spoiled by the faint giggle in her tone.

  “It is mine to look at, is it not?” he stated as though black were red and white were blue.